


kiss the frets (don’t lose yourself, not quite yet)

by underscorepidge



Category: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Multi, Polyamory, Punk Band Au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:47:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27272149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underscorepidge/pseuds/underscorepidge
Summary: a weekend ritual for kindred souls
Relationships: Kairi/Riku/Sora (Kingdom Hearts)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	kiss the frets (don’t lose yourself, not quite yet)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosie_kairi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosie_kairi/gifts).



> HAPPY (early) BIRTHDAY FOX!!!!!!! ILYSM AND I HOPE YOU HAVE AN ABSOLUTELY FANTASTIC BIRTHDAY

“Well, this certainly isn’t the weirdest thing you’ve called me up about,” Riku tells them in all the infinite wisdom that he could possibly muster; it’s 2 am on a Saturday morning, dead of winter, and Riku’s hair is jammed inside a beanie with tufts sticking out haphazardly. His phone is a pleasant warmth against his ear, to combat the achy chill still in his bones. Kairi laughs from where he does not see her, grainy translation through the speakers of his old, old touchscreen. Somewhere behind her, Sora cranks up the music, fast and loud and just what they need at a time like this. Riku wills the line in front of him to move faster, basket full of energy drinks and snacks heavy in the crook of his elbow. “We love you,” Kairi coos, and the red blossoming on his cheeks is almost as brilliant as the chipped polish on his nails.

The apartment is a welcomed reprieve from the snow outside, smelling vaguely of hair dye and the cheap mac n cheese they made on a whim at 11:30. Sora’s torn to shreds and stained rainbow sleep shirt is in a heap by the door to their bedroom; Riku cracks a can of Monster and nudges the door open with his foot. His drum set remains blissfully untouched in the living room, to go with the framed posters and vinyls and old as dirt record player propped open on the tv stand. This is home for him, for all of them, it’s how Kairi hums under her breath as she’s painting her lips an obscenely hot pink color in the bathroom mirror, trying her best to avoid the lip ring she’s had since they were all 14 and righteously angry with how no one ever took them seriously, to go with the ink crawling up her arms and her stretched to high heaven ears; Sora’s massaging turquoise dye (“Manic Panic, to be specific,” he always told them when he showed up to Riku’s house with a new hair color every other week) into his freshly bleached hair, propped up in the empty tub and humming along to the song that’s playing from laptop speakers. The motion of doing so is commonplace by now, something bright and eye-catching to match everything else about what makes Sora who he is, septum and studs all up his ears and heart in a key on his wrist. 

Riku is terribly fond of them, setting down the bags so he can toss a bag of chips to Sora and smudge Kairi’s efforts as he’s handing her a can of something ridiculously sugary. Kairi smiles anyways, snapping on gloves and reaching for the bottle of purple dye sitting untouched on the counter; this is their ritual, something they just DO, and once it is all said and done they will inevitably crawl back into bed in a tangle of limbs and sleep until the sun is high in the sky, and after they will make coffee to specifications and watch as Sora screams his heart out to the freaks below his stage, drawing them in like no other can. This is home, and it’s something they would never change for the world.


End file.
